Spinneret Page 2

  “The Ctencri have direct contact with nine others. The existence of seventeen more is known secondhand. We believe there to be many others.”

  The Russians didn’t believe it, of course. Neither, to a lesser extent, did the Americans and the Europeans. The star ships were sent out again, in new directions. And again. And again.

  Eventually, they were all convinced.

  “So this is it,” Saleh said, leaning back in his chair and gazing out the window at the lights of New York. They were glowing brightly, as usual, and the Yemeni felt his usual twinge of anger. The work at Oak Ridge and Princeton in the last century had guaranteed that the United States, at least, would not starve for energy for a long time to come … but the rest of the world still waited for the promised sharing of that technology.

  Someone cleared his throat, and Saleh shifted his attention back to the five heads of state he’d invited to this meeting. “This makes no sense at all,” Japanese Prime Minister Nagata said, laying down a copy of the report. “An Earth-type world complete with water and a breathable atmosphere and no metals? That’s absurd.”

  “I only know what the Ctencri said,” Saleh said, shrugging. “It’s because the planet hasn’t got any metals that we’ve even got a chance at it—otherwise the Rooshrike would have found a use for the place long ago.”

  “Could this be some sort of elaborate trap?” Premier Sing of the People’s Republic asked. “I understand the Rooshrike are the ones who fired on the Celeritas.”

  “According to the Ctencri, the Rooshrike simply act impulsively at times,” Saleh told him. “Apparently, they jumped to the wrong conclusion when the Celeritas didn’t give the proper identification signals. I’ve been assured that’s all straightened out now.”

  “Less likely a trap than a swindle,” Russia’s Liadov rumbled. “How much would the Rooshrike and the Ctencri want for this worthless lump of mud?”

  “Nothing humans can live on is completely worthless,” President Allerton said mildly, a soft gleam in his eye.

  The Russian snorted.

  “The cost actually isn’t that bad,” Saleh said. “It would come out to eighty million dollars’ worth of certain relatively rare elements—the list of acceptable purity levels is on the last page. For that we would get a hundred-year lease with renewal option.” He paused. “Which brings us to the reason I’ve asked you here tonight. The rental fee would only be the tip of the iceberg if we intend to actually do anything with this world. Homes would have to be built, crops planted, industries started, colonists screened and trained—it would be a tremendous project.”

  “And so you’ve come to us for money,” British Prime Minister Smythe-Walker put in dryly.

  “Yes,” Saleh nodded without shame. “The UN budget can’t support something like this, let alone organize everything—we simply haven’t the funds or manpower. We would have to contract out parts of the operation, which would take even more money. So before I even bring this up to the Security Council and General Assembly, I need to know whether or not the money will be forthcoming from those who can afford it.”

  “Why bother?” Liadov shrugged. “You ask a great deal for the privilege of flying the UN flag on a world with less economic value even than Venus. You would do better to fund expeditions to the Jovian moons.”

  “You overstate the case somewhat,” Sing said, “but you are essentially correct. This world does not seem worth its cost.”

  “Crops won’t grow without traces of metal in the soil, for starters,” Nagata put in. “All food would need to be imported. And what could they export in exchange?”

  “Other minerals,” Allerton said, still skimming the report. “One of the continents appears to be ringed with underwater mineral deposits.”

  “What, silicates and such?” Smythe-Walker shook his head. “Sorry, John, but it’s hard to imagine any rock formations worth carting up a gravity well and across forty light-years of space. And there’s still the thing with food, unless you want to add a few tons of iron and manganese silicates to the soil before you plant.”

  “Why not?” Allerton countered. “It’s not as impractical as you make it sound.”

  “No—but it is expensive.” Smythe-Walker looked at Saleh. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe His Majesty’s government will be able to guarantee any support for such a project.”

  “Has it occurred to you—to any of you,” Allerton added, glancing around the table, “that this whole thing might be some sort of test? That our willingness to take on what seems to be a hopeless task may be how all those aliens out there judge our spirit and ingenuity?”

  “More likely testing our intelligence,” Nagata murmured.

  “I have an idea,” Liadov spoke up. “As Mr. Allerton seems to be the only one of us interested in demonstrating mankind’s resolve to our new neighbors—and as he is so fond of invoking Yankee ingenuity as the solution to all our problems—I suggest we give the United States a UN mandate to develop and administer this world. With a certain amount of UN support, of course.”

  For a long moment Allerton stared hard into the Russian’s impassive face, and Saleh held his breath. He’d been in the vanguard of the Islamic Confederation’s vocal attacks on the Americans’ Homestead Project, but such political necessities hadn’t kept him from secretly hoping the search for new worlds would bear fruit. A new frontier—whether intended as a private preserve for the rich or not—would give hope to all those who felt themselves trapped into ancient patterns without the possibility of escape. Four years ago he’d dreamed of a UN that could build its own ship to fly with the Canadians’ newly discovered star drive; two years later he’d finally admitted defeat. Rhetoric and Third World support were no substitutes for money, and the West was ever more selfish these days with their wealth. But if Liadov’s goading succeeded …

  “All right,” Allerton said abruptly. “If I can get Congress to approve, we’ll do it. And”—he leveled a finger at Liadov—“we’ll do it well.”

  The next day the matter was brought before the General Assembly, which endorsed the mandate by a 148 to 13 vote. A month later the U.S. Senate followed suit, and the world newly christened Astra became the center of perhaps the biggest project the Army Corps of Engineers had ever undertaken.

  Eleven months after that, the first colonists arrived.

  Chapter 1

  FROM ORBIT ASTRA RESEMBLED nothing so much as a giant mudball on which someone had thoughtlessly spilled a bucket or two of pale blue paint. Both of the continental land masses were as dead-dull-bland as anything Colonel Lloyd Meredith had ever seen. No reds, certainly no greens; just the occasional blue of a lake or a line of white-capped mountains. Even the continental-shelf mineral deposits upon which the planet’s future industry depended so heavily came out as a blue-washed white. “I wish we’d brought some paint,” he commented to me man beside him.

  Captain Radford snorted mildly. “You’ll get used to it,” he said. “I think you’ll find you’ve got bigger problems down there than lack of decent scenery.”

  “No doubt,” Meredith conceded. Radford had been ferrying workers and equipment back and forth for nearly a year now and undoubtedly knew more about the place than Meredith, who’d spent that same period up to his zygomatic arch in organizational details for the permanent colony. “Are we anywhere near the settlement? My map-reading courses never included looking at the terrain from this height.”

  “We’re just coming up on it now.” Radford indicated the western edge of the continent below. “You see that sort of four-fingered bay, with the big island just off it? That’s the place. Right near the mineral deposits, with several feeding rivers for fresh water and the sheltered areas of the bay for fish breeding. The main military base and landing facilities are on the island; the towns are on the bay or within a dozen kilometers of it.”

  “Um.” Meredith’s eyes traced the line of mountains arcing into the bay from the southeast, shifted to a solitary shadow fifty kilometers
or so due east of the settlement. “What about that volcano?”

  “You mean Olympus? No sweat—the thing’s been dormant for centuries.”

  “Yes, that’s what the preliminary report said. Anybody done a more careful check of it since then?”

  “I don’t know. You’ve got your own geologists, though, don’t you? I’m sure they can put your mind at ease.”

  Meredith pursed his lips momentarily at the other’s faintly patronizing tone. A lot of the colonel’s colleagues thought him overly cautious on the subject of volcanos … but then, none of them had seen firsthand the aftermath of the ’88 Izalco eruption that had killed four hundred people in El Salvador. “I’m sure they can,” he told Radford evenly. “All right. How soon can we launch shuttles and start getting this crowd down?”

  “Any time you and the crowd are ready,” Radford said. “As far as I’m concerned, the sooner the better.”

  Meredith nodded understanding; there’d been a lot of tension aboard ship the past three weeks. “They’ll calm down once they’ve got room to move again.”

  “I hope so—for your sake.” Keying his intercom, Radford began issuing orders.

  Seen from ground level, Astra’s color scheme wasn’t markedly improved; but Dr. Peter Hafner didn’t especially care. He’d studied all the photos and read all the soil analyses, but there was nothing that could compare to seeing the rocks close up and personally handling them. Leaning over the hovercraft rail, he gazed at the low cliffs flanking the narrow entrance to Splayfoot Bay, eyes tracing the subtle variations in hue and wondering about their composition. For the moment, speculation was all he could do; the extreme scarcity of metallic elements in Astra’s crust opened the way for compounds never before suspected, let alone seen. He could hardly wait to begin work on them.

  The hovercraft cleared the bay’s entrance and headed toward the easternmost of the three main arms. Hafner caught a glimpse of a settlement up in the northern branch, but it was too far away for him to pick out any details. A few minutes later the craft entered the eastern arm, and Hafner saw that there was another collection of buildings at its far end. The majority seemed to be built along the lines of rowhouses, though there were a few larger ones that probably served as community or storage facilities. The construction material was obvious: some sort of adobe, probably baked in slabs for faster construction. Undoubtedly efficient, given the lack of wood, but the drab result was pretty grim.

  Beside him, two Hispanic-looking men were also squinting at the town ahead. From the tone of their muttered Spanish, Hafner decided they were similarly unimpressed by its appearance. He wondered if anyone had thought to bring along any house paint, decided regretfully that such a consideration would rank low on military priority lists.

  For the moment, though, the clothing of the people milling about added color to the scene. A small crowd was gathered near the dock, where one of the other hovercraft was still unloading. Hafner’s craft slid into position on the opposite side of the welded metal pier, and the scientist joined the rest of the colonists streaming ashore.

  The crowd turned out to be the queue for a sort of open-air check-in station the military had set up. Hafner took his place at the end of one of the lines, thankful that the Army had had the sense to give the colonists some time in the open after the cramped conditions aboard ship.

  The sun was directly overhead—noon of a twenty-seven-hour day—and now that the mountain foothills blocked the stiff ocean breeze, the air was beginning to warm up. Hafner slipped off his jacket, wondering idly how good the meteorologists’ seasonal predictions really were. Astra’s smaller axial tilt should give milder temperature swings than those of Hafner’s native Pennsylvania, but with barely a year’s worth of data to go on, the planet’s climate was far from established. Certainly it seemed hotter now than the early spring this part of Astra was supposed to be in at the moment, and if this wasn’t just a temporary heat wave even the tough hybrid crop strains they’d brought with them might be in trouble. He hoped the experts had taken such possibilities into account.

  Finally, it was his turn at the front of the line. “Name?” the sweating lieutenant asked, not bothering to look up from his portable terminal.

  “Peter Hafner. I’m a geologist with Dr. Patterson’s group—”

  The terminal spat out a small card. “Hafner, Peter Andrew; 1897-22-6618; science/professional.” The soldier handed Hafner the card. “House number 127 here in Unie; maps are posted in the courtyard over there; meal and orientation meeting times are on the bulletin board beside the maps. Questions will be answered at the meeting tonight; emergency questions can be handled at the admin complex. Next!”

  Well, at least they’ve got things organized, Hafner thought as he headed toward the knot of people around the bulletin board. For a moment he considered finding the admin complex and seeing if they would tell him where Patterson would be living. But they were probably up to their necks in work over there, and there was no point making a nuisance of himself any sooner than necessary. The meeting tonight would be soon enough to find Patterson and discuss the work schedule; until then, he would do well to put a leash and choke collar on his eagerness. A quick look at his new quarters and a long walk around Unie should do him for today. In fact, if his luggage had been delivered to his house yet, he’d even have his sample boxes and a handful of reagents to take with him.

  Smiling, he picked up his pace. Perhaps the afternoon wouldn’t be a total waste, after all.

  The stars were shining like frozen sparks overhead as the Ceres town meeting broke up, their brilliance seemingly unaffected by the handful of lights that defined where the streets were alleged to be. Cristobal Perez walked slowly toward the house he shared with two other men, the work orders they’d passed out in the meeting crinkling in his pocket as he moved.

  A footstep scrunched the gravel behind him: someone overtaking. Turning, he caught a glimpse of the other’s face. “Matro,” he nodded in greeting. “How do you like your new home so far? A true land of opportunity, sí?”

  Matro Rodriguez snarled an old Nahuatl curse Perez had often heard him use. “Farming. Farming! We came all this way just to be put to work in fields like migrants?”

  “I told you not to expect too much,” Perez said with a shrug. “If you’d ever been in the Army, you would know that all recruiters lie through their teeth.”

  “We might as well be in the Army. Or haven’t you looked at the list of rules yet?”

  “I looked at it. What did you expect—that we would be the new Pilgrims here, get to do anything we want?”

  Rodriguez didn’t seem to be listening. “Did you notice how practically everyone in Ceres is Hispanic? And how they’ve got us three to a house? I was behind one of the middle-class science types in line this afternoon—he got a house all to himself in Unie.”

  “Well, at least we’ve got our own lake.”

  “I’m overjoyed,” Rodriguez said sourly. “The Anglos’ll probably sit around it while we dig irrigation ditches to the fields.”

  “You’re getting yourself worked up for nothing. All right, so they’re treating us like peons—now. But there are a lot more colonists than there are soldiers, and I don’t suppose the Anglos will be thrilled by Army rules for long either. As long as we stick together we can make this place what they promised us it would be.”

  Rodriguez gave him a hard look. “You were always a pretty good talker, weren’t you? I noticed you didn’t say any of this at the meeting when they ordered us into the fields.”

  “Of course not—we’ve all got to eat, haven’t we? But the time will come, Matro, and when it does we’ll be the ones bargaining from strength. Trust me.”

  The other snorted. “Sure. But I won’t believe it until it happens. Buenos noches.” Lengthening his stride, he disappeared into the gloom.

  Perez watched him go, feeling his lip curl slightly. He and Rodriguez had been friends since their high school days in Texas, and he’d yet to
see the other use his head while his mouth and fists were still operable. Chances were good he’d go off half-cocked this time, too, and get himself in a lot of trouble. If that happened … well, Perez would just have to do what he could to help. It was a pain, but Rodriguez was people, and Perez could hardly claim to be out to save the world if he weren’t out to save people, too.

  Lost in conversation and musings, he’d overshot his turnoff. Retracing his steps, he headed down the dimly lit lane toward his new home, hoping his roommates weren’t planning to stay up late talking. As in all farming communities, Ceres’s day was going to start early.

  Pulling the sheet up to her chin, Carmen Olivero turned off her light with a tired sigh. Only one day on Astra, she thought wryly, and already I’m a week behind. A new record. By all rights, she knew, she ought to still be at the Unie admin complex, where the rest of the organizational staff was busy with final duty rosters and equipment/supply check-in. The latter work had been done once, of course; when the ships were being loaded, but it all had to be done over to check for breakage and such during the voyage. But Colonel Meredith had left specific orders for her group to be available at 0700, and she knew better than to scrimp on sleep if she wanted to be at least halfway competent at her job. Especially after undergoing this new space-age equivalent of jet lag.

  She closed her eyes, but her mind seemed to still be in high gear. Inventory lists and storage assignments hovered in front of her eyes, threatening her with an avalanche of paper. She’d been doing this sort of work for fifteen years now, but nothing in her experience had prepared her for the sheer complexity of this job. Ten thousand colonists and military people required a lot of supplies, and aside from water the local environment provided practically zilch. And it was a long, long way to Earth for anything they ran out of.

  She fought it for ten minutes before finally tossing back the sheet and padding barefoot to the kitchen. The individual food supplies hadn’t yet been distributed to the various houses, but the plumbing and microwave worked and she always carried a few packets of instant hot chocolate in her personal luggage. A few minutes later she was sitting by the kitchen window with the steaming mug, listening to the faint voices and machinery sounds from the direction of the docks. I wonder when I’ll start missing Fort Dix, she wondered. Not that the base or even the rest of Jersey had held that great an attraction for her; but after a lifetime of periodic uprootings, she knew full well that the pangs of homesickness would eventually come. In her Army brat days the agony had sometimes seemed to be more than she could handle, enhanced as it was by the loss of school and friends; now, at the ripe old age of thirty-six, she knew the reaction would be no more than a dull haze over her life for a few days. Still, it was never much fun. One of these days, she told herself, sipping cautiously, I’m going to have to give up this nonsense and settle down somewhere for good. Maybe when we’ve got Astra on its feet … or when we throw in the towel and all go home. Whichever comes first.